Treat me, Valentine
by Grain Crain
Summary: A fancy restaurant may be Spy's element, but Sniper finds it very difficult to fit in. Will their Valentines date end as a grand success or failure? [Spy/Sniper] One shot.


Let's compare two things in the world that relate to each other each other. A relaxing piece of piano music serenading the gorgeous chandeliers. The disproportionate comparison in the size between gourmet meals and plates. Stiff-necked and prideful waiters serving their well-dressed customers. Spy and his natural grace that overpowered the strange look of him with his balaclava on. The only odd that didn't fit in this luxurious restaurant was none other than the slender Australian who looked very uncomfortable in a suit that he hardly wore. His unfamiliar image was far from his outback costume. The tall height complimented his lean but muscular fit and the sharp features of his face were revealed without any hat or sunglasses to hide them. Even though Sniper regretted his decision of dragging himself out of the van, he still felt some sort of obligation to treat Spy for a proper dinner as a respectable boyfriend. They planned this few week ago and Sniper refused to blow it.

"Have you chosen your meal yet?"  
>"Give me a minute."<br>Dim candle lights on their table danced as Spy sighed at how he heard the same response half an hour ago. His patience was at its limit and so was the overly attentive waiter who walked back and forth without any order from them. It was Valentine's Day where guests flooded in like high tide and the waiter wished he could tell the two males that he hasn't got all day. Moreover, he was stressed over the complaints from customers who found chips of chandlier shards and stones in their food.

"We can go somewhere else."  
>"Nah. You chose this restaurant, remember?"<br>Sniper smiled weakly and squinted at the menu that had weird and squiggly words. He was never fond of being in a place where he had to dress fancy like a showcase, especially with this restaurant that had too many people due to Valentine's Day. He couldn't pronounce more than half of the ingredients that he head, but he was trying his hardest to accommodate to Spy's taste. He finally waved at the waiter who refrained himself from rolling his eyes.

"Are you ready to order, sirs?"  
>"Yeah. I would like to have a 'horsed overs.'"<br>The sound of Spy face palming himself was clearly audible as the waiter coughed out a millisecond of sneer.

"Do you mean hors d'oeuvres, sir?"  
>"Wot?"<br>Sniper's face shaded into deeper red when the waiter shook his head at the other waiters and customers who were already sniggering in low volume. If this wasn't in their plan, Sniper would have grabbed the collar of this rude bastard and plummet that greasy face on the floor.

"Mon dieu, this is horrible."  
>The disappointed remark from Spy almost made the waiter honk his nose in laughter. This date seemed like a shit idea and nothing seemed to elevate this situation other than leaving this shithole after he breaks the waiter's nose. Sniper raised his hand into hard fist and began to push his chair out. Most people would have assumed that he was up for a raw brawl.<p>

"Do you truly call yourselves a five star restaurant without serving a plate of 'horsed over' to your valuable customers?"  
>Sets of confused eyes stared at the man in mask as if he was on drugs and Sniper released the tension in his arm muscle in one forward swing. The waiter scratched his itchy neck and inclined his head in mocking attitude.<p>

"…pardon me, sir. But it's actually pronounced that way."  
>"You are missing my point, young man. As you can tell with my accent, I am French. Your pronunciation of hors d'oeuvres is quite impressive, but I believe that you did not know that it translates into-"<br>"I am a French descendant. It means appetiser."  
>Waiter rebutted back but immediately lost sureness in his knowledge when Spy gave him a look as if a lecturer would look at an over-confident freshman in college. The mood stiffened as Spy stood up and cleared his throat before the long rant.<p>

"-'horsed overs'. This originates from the early 17th century when labourers of Versailles bred Boulonnais horse for steadier rides, but later for source of meat due to the famine that Antoinette supposedly caused. Horses were vital method of transport but obviously, bread was scarce. Thus, dead or old horses were tipped over, or as we now say, 'horsed over' to be roasted upside down for a barbeque that entire village could share. They all ate small pieces of roasted horse meats to survive and longed for a proper meal."  
>Nobody dared to object this snippet of history that sounded like a ridiculous piece of fiction. The credibility of this story seemed to be supported by few famous names such as 'Versailles and 'Antoinette' and Spy's calm and collected intonation. Sniper smiled in glee as he saw the arrogant waiter was utterly lost in overwhelming amount of information. Customers murmured in agreement as if they knew what Spy was talking about and locked pitiful gazes on the waiter.<p>

"Bullshit..."  
>"I suggest you to push your pride aside and ask forgiveness from <em>your<em> ancestors."  
>Sniper lightly smacked back of the dumbstruck waiter's head as they strode past. Just as they walked toward the exit, Sniper heard surprised gasps and saw a blurry image reflected on the glass door that they were about to push.<p>

"Crikey!"  
>He grabbed Spy's shoulder and ducked down. A flying a bottle of wine shattered right above where Spy's head would have been. Sniper quietly swore through gritted teeth in anger as he pinched the heaviest piece of broken glass.<p>

"I will teach you how to aim, you cunt."  
>He whispered and steadied his breath as he readied to plant a shard in the offender's eye.<p>

"Hold it."  
>Spy interrupted Sniper's work habit when a worried-looking middle aged woman in immaculate uniform scooted down to witness the commotion. On her right chest, an engraved golden badge bore 'Head Manager' in italics.<p>

"Are you alright, sirs?"  
>"Alright? That wanker tried to kill us!"<br>"Madame, I question the method of choosing your employee when it cannot filter out a violent, rude and ignorant individual. He disrespected my partner with false information, denied the corrections that I made and now attempted to severely injure us. I did not mean to cause you this much trouble, but this matter has gone too far to just settle with an apology."  
>It didn't even take a minute for the manager to suggest a free full course meal with the most expensive wine from their cellar. As they sat on the top balcony with well displayed meals, a milky way of beautiful city light celebrated their triumph. Spy swirled the bottle that contained vibrant ruby alcohol and raised it to Sniper.<p>

"To mon amour, my best actor."  
>"Wasn't acting, mate. You were better at making some dodgy story up."<br>They chuckled in unison and toasted their wine glasses. When Spy proposed Sniper for a date a month ago, Sniper hesitated at first but gave in after consistent persuasion.

"…and my best sharpshooter as well."  
>"You shoud've seen that old sheila's face when she swallowed a pebble!"<br>They had plenty of money earned from shedding their organs multiple times, but it was a good opportunity to test out their skills outside of the respawn system. For two men who regarded themselves as professionals, this was nothing but a sadistic game as mercenaries. Just as his lover promised, Sniper enjoyed the little fun they had but he still wasn't overly fond of wearing clothes that restricted his movements.

"I've gotta admit that this is the best night I've ever had, but did I really have to wear a suit?"  
>"You obviously do not realise the effect that you had on those ladies from downstairs. They were all hungry for you."<br>Sniper looked away to hide his bashfulness from the praise which sounded unbelievable to him, but it was all quite true. He did feel the lustful gazes that he felt uncomfortable, but Spy also did receive fair amount of appeals.

"They weren't only looking at me."  
>Sniper returned his head toward the table, but Spy was out of sight. His sharp eyes busily searched every corners till he felt a hand stroking hair behind his ear.<p>

"…but I was the one who starved the most." 


End file.
